


BOOTY COMPARTMENT

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Booty Compartment Love, Empire of Stone, Humor, M/M, Mech/Mech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9819059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: For those fans who miss the bounteous booty that Drift had.





	

_ Drift watches Ratchet make off with his booty compartment. He sighs heavily and arms his dart gun. He casually follows the medic back to his ship. The heeled steps are quick and desperate in their haste. The swordsmech goes on high alert when a security camera sweeps over him. He ducks behind the landing gear of Ratchet’s ship. He waits for the security camera to pass to scan back the other way. He darts into the open hanger. _

_ In the interior of the ship, he runs into no more security problems. ‘Odd,’ but Drift thinks nothing more of it as he tracks the steps further into the ship. The soft strains of music touch his audios before the deep thrums of Ratchet’s vocalizer. It was an old Cybertronian love song. An odd feeling sits directly into Drift’s spark. Some internal sensor is screaming at him to leave and never look back. He slips into the medic’s personal chambers. _

_ He drops the dart gun and stares at the scene before him. Ratchet lays sprawled on the berth, draped in a soft ivory fabric. The CMO smiles coyly at Drift and leans his cheek against the booty compartment. His red fingers trace the rounded aft lovingly as he nuzzles one cheek. The sheer fabric catches on his open seams. Red digits move from petting the aft to sliding over the surface of the berth. He rumbles an invitation to the speechless speedster. _

_ When Drift does not respond either positively or negatively, he huffs in irritation before levering himself up to crawl over to the edge of the berth. His digits curl over the edge and he lowers his helm to rest on his own hands. His own aft veiled beneath the smokey fabric wiggles back and forth slowly. Ratchet’s thighs subtlety spread. He rumbles in a deep slow roll to invite Drift onto his berth. The medic continues to wiggle as he raises his helm. Happiness suffuses his field at the approach of Drift. _

_ The speedster twitches. He tries unsuccessfully to master his lust. He had seen in old porno-holovids that mechs would adapt organic like behaviors. His glossa licks at his lips, and his core burns white hot as Ratchet tracks the movement. Drift hits the berth. Ratchet’s digits begin at his knees and caress upwards, mapping the new subtle curve of his hips. The medic flicks his glossa against Drift’s pelvic armor and… _

*ehoo ehoo ehoo ehoo*

Drift smacks into the floor. He sends his sword to silence the alarm. His helm smacks with a dull thunk on the floor. He glares at the spiteful ceiling. The speedster was unwilling to get up and start his day at the rude awakening. Frag it to the pit, he didn’t even remember setting that scrap alarm. He tries to shut down his optics and cycle back into recharge when a clang captures his full attention. He jumps to his feet, ignoring the fact that the edge of the berth was right above his helm. He curls up and misses the mech coming into his quarters until a pair of peds finally swim into his vision.

Peds that were very familiar come to think of it. Drift’s optics widen to comic proportions as they touch Ratchet’s slightly annoyed smile. The CMO grins down at the ex-3IC. He holds out a cube of energon to the staring mech. He chortles when Drift surges up to land smack on his aft on the berth.

“Bout time you woke up. I was getting worried that I tuckered you out the last three nights,” Ratch subspaces the cube for later. “Guess that’s to be expected after all the work I had to do on that chassis. And you were under-fueled again.” The medic sighs and glances back at Drift. A runs a single digits over the swordsmech’s ankle. His smile is mischievous as he leans in, “Fancy a few more frags?”

Drift glitches hard and doesn’t notice the mounted booty compartment in the corner of his quarters with a note attached.  _ ‘Captured by booty hunter master Ratchet.’ _


End file.
